Fire Of Unknown Origin
by CrUnchyCheErioEs91
Summary: This is my first fic...Sam and Dean encounter something that is so awful, the ones they love are the ones to fear...Warnings for torture, noncon, language...
1. Chapter 1

**Chapter 1**

Their motel Dean and Sam returned to go to after their hunt was small and quaint. They got into the one-bedroom, one bathroom motel room. The walls were of dark red wallpaper – the floor sporting dark red carpet. The red carpet started about 2 meters from the door and the bathroom door, which was beside the entrance door. The beds and furniture was all old-fashioned and dark chestnut-wood style. The window at the end of the rectangular room was covered by white blinds. The two beds were side by side on the wall directly opposite the door. Across from the beds there stood a desk with an old lamp, a phone, water, and some paper. The room in general looked inviting.

Crashing onto the beds, a wash of relief ran over them again. Silence followed. A lot of hunts were like this afterwards. The boys had gotten close again to being seriously injured. Now they were running it through their heads again, the instant replay of their hunt.

Conversations were limited and short – Dean especially was always quiet after a hunt, but now this too quiet. Something was wrong again. For the past couple of days Dean seemed to be jerking off doing other things, saying odd things that were completely weird. Sam kept trying to come onto him and open up but Dean kept refusing – kept pushing him further back and back. A few hours later of silence except for the TV – which proved to be a relief from the silence, Sam had had enough. Shutting off the TV, he got up and looked at Dean, who was standing over his bed.

"Okay, man, what's going on with you?" Sam said inquisitively and with more force as Dean didn't look at him and meet his eyes.

He replied absently, "What're you talking about?"

"You know what, Dean. Something's been on you mind, hasn't it? It is about that deal you made with that bitch demon? It is me? What is it man? Talk to me."

"There's nothing wrong Sam, I've just been tired that's all."

"So you're sure you're all right?" Sam asked Dean, a look of concern washing over his face.

"Cause you seem kind of – _off_. Out if it." He looked at his brother, but his brother wouldn't turn up to him or meet him gaze again. Dean was looking down at the duffel on his bed.

"I'm fine, dude." Dean brushed off his brother's concern for him with an emotionless face that Sam couldn't read and had such coldness as he continued to rummage through the weapons in his duffel bag on his bed, holding and examining a few. Pretending to be busy.

"Seriously man, you've be acting strange – just tell me what's on your mind. You don't have to handle this alone – whatever it is, I can help you."

"I said I'M FINE Sam!" Dean growled and raised his voice a little more significantly, this time raising his head and turning to Sam to look at him squarely in the eyes. It was _that_ look. The look that said "_back off_." Dean turned his attention back to his bag, and Sam caught on and dropped it, but couldn't help saying,

"Jerk."

"Bitch." Dean said

"Loser." Sam said, and turned around thinking Dean was okay, he just didn't want to show his emotions to him.

Sam knew that Dean didn't want to his little brother to know that there was something wrong – and there was always something wrong. The Winchesters always had their problems –and unfortunately they were most often quiet about it. John had raised his boys to handle problems and take emotional abuse and pain – they were taught to be like soldiers: to not complain and shut about things. Dean somehow incorporated that more than Sam, and Sam never knew why, that he always wanted to show his little brother just how strong he was. That he was the stronger and tougher of the two. The dominant.

There was that military streak to him that John had enforced into Dean since they were kids that would never leave him. John laid so much responsibility on Dean right from the start – since he was the oldest of course. Dean _always_ had to look out for Sam, he was the bigger of the two until Sam was seventeen – where he grew past Dean and didn't stop growing until twenty-one. Now at twenty-four, Sam stood a good three inches taller than him. But somehow, height didn't matter. Dean was always bulkier than Sam – he always had a stronger frame than Sam. Sam was long-limbed and flexible, but Dean was always stronger. Both had such opposite strengths.

Unfortunately, it was that second that Sam turned around to face his back to Dean that Dean took it to his full advantage. He dropped his knives, and his full attention – which had actually been for the whole time of their conversation – was on Sam. Sam stalked towards the bathroom, only able to walk a few paces when the back of his head was met with a blow from Dean's fist. Sam yelped and jerked forward. Dropping to his knees, his vision blurry and swayed – his hunter instincts kicked in and he turned around to face his opponent. The pain shot through his head – a radiating throbbing pain – seemed to vibrate his entire skull. Sam's first thoughts were that someone – or something else was in the room, had most likely quickly knocked out Dean, and then went for him, because Dean would never hurt him. But he was met with a surprise – Dean was standing above him, a sly smile across his face, ready to attack Sam again. Surprised, Sam got to his feet with a little bit of trouble,

"Dean, what they hell?" His response was met with a punch to the face, causing the younger man to groan stagger back. Putting one of his hands to his face Sam felt and saw warm blood coming out of his nose.

"Dean, w-what're you doing?" Sam looked at Dean with bewilderment and disbelief in his eyes. When Dean advanced on him, Sam knew it was shoot first, ask questions later. This time Sam fought back, blocking another punch from Dean as he aimed for his little brother's chest. But Dean managed to use the momentum and maneuver himself to the side of Sam, landing a well-positioned kick to Sam's stomach. Sam groaned and curled in as he was standing.

Dean grabbed Sam's shoulders on either side, and held him still as Sam's body was met with a vicious kick to the legs from him. He tumbled to the ground, gasping.

Another kick to the stomach. Fire shot up his spine to his neck. Sam curled on in himself into his best protective ball, but Dean continued to kick his him. His eyes were glaring.

Sam dodged a few on the floor, and managed somehow – he was in disbelief as to how he was able to manage it at the time – got up before his big brother managed to lay any more kicks, and with one hand grabbing his stomach – got into a fighter stance.

Shocked and frustrated, Dean advanced on him again. Sam aimed a punch at Dean and it settled into his skin, breaking the skin and leaving an opening with fresh flowing blood coming out of it.

"You just want me to match you, huh?" The blood oozed from the new cut on his face.It wasn't deep, but shit, it hurt and it was enough to piss off Dean even more.

"Ho," Dean said under his breathe, and recollected himself as Sam had done, "You're gonna pay for that little brother." he spit out angrily.

Dean launched himself at Sam, this time very quickly and in one swift motion, wrapped both hands around Sam's throat and shoved him against the wall so that he was pinned, oxygen escaping him. Sam body hit the wall hard and he choked and gasped, restraining and trying to lash out at his brother, fists flying at him and trying to grab his hands and yank him off, but his muscles were growing weaker every second. One of his fists did manage to successfully hit Dean in the face again– and he staggered back, not as such as Sam wanted him to though.

Letting go of Sam's throat, Dean walked back up to Sam again, and he all-too-quickly grabbed both of Sam's wrists. Sam's eyes were in panic and he fought harder against Dean; flexing his muscles to try and pry Dean's hands off of him that were grasping him tightly. But he couldn't. Sam achieved bringing their arms up in the air even though Dean was the stronger in the situation, but Dean's vice grip on him and the hits Sam had already taken were starting to take a toll on him.

Both shaking violently against each other's strengths and each other's resistances to try and get the other down, Dean was slowly winning. They looked at each other directly in the eyes, knowing that they were testing each other's physical ability – they exchanged glares and grunts as they fought against each other's muscle power. Dean was slowly bringing Sam's arms down to his sides again. Sam's arms felt like they were on fire.

When Dean felt that Sam's arms were lowered enough, he head-butted his little brother in the head. Sam's head snapped back to expose his now bruised neck, and he cried out. Sam forced himself to focus only on his brother and his strength at that moment. His head lowered down again and sagged sideways slightly.

No! Not when he was this close! Now his knees gave out, and he found himself looking up at his big brother leaning over him still grasping his wrists, which were above his head now but below Dean's head, both of their arms perpendicular to each other and bent at a ninety degree angle up.

Sam's eyes were now of fear, begging his older brother for mercy. Dean's eyes now were triumphant and dominant – a sly and smug look. The shaking was less now because Sam was growing weaker and resisting less.

"Dean, please…. w-wha…" In the position they were in, with Dean bending over Sam, who was now sitting on his feet, Sam's stomach was exposed right in the area of Dean's legs. Seeing the advantage point, Dean kicked **hard** at his little brother's stomach and let go of his wrists. He stepped back.

Sam fell onto the floor in front of his big brother's feet face first, gasping. Clutching his stomach with his arms wrapped around himself, it looked like he was almost hugging himself. Pleased and satisfied, as Sam tried to slowly get up or move, Dean placed a foot on Sam's head. Sam's face was pushed right onto the floor, and it was hard to find air.

Struggling for air, Sam squirmed. He tried to buck his brother off of him. The youngest Winchester turned his face to the side so that he could breathe, and coughed.

Dean released his foot but knelt down beside him and grabbed a fist of Sam's hair. He arched Sam's head back and up so that he could look at him in the face. Sam's shoulders and legs hurt. He couldn't move – or didn't have the strength to move. Sam's watering eyes were pleading – the puppy look that Dean always fell for no matter what. But not this time. He looked up at his brother.

"It didn't have to be this hard, Sam. You brought this upon yourself."

Realizing what was coming, Sam pleaded,

"Dean please stop! No! Dean!"

Those were the last words Sam said before his brother brought his head up further, arching his neck, and smashed him face-first onto the floor hard, blackness surrounding him.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

Laid out with his back flat on the bed, Sam woke to consciousness. Opening his eyes and becoming aware of the situation, he tried to move his arms and legs. But he quickly realized that each of his wrists were tied tightly to each side of the bed on a bed post with a very durable rope– cutting off circulation in his hands and scraping against his skin. His ankles were tied down to the posts at the end of the bed, stretching him out so that his body was as exposed and flat as possible. His mouth was gagged and Sam noticed that his shirt had been removed.

His nose felt raw, but he discovered the blood that had previously been flowing from it had been wiped off of him. Sam could still feel water drying on his face. The side of his head and forehead hurt where Dean had knocked him out when he connected with the floor, and his stomach and legs ached from the multiple kicks and punches Dean had bruised him with as Sam put up a fight against him. God, he tried to fight. He really did. But it was so unexpecting when Dean first launched at him – to tell Sam to stop fighting him, that there was no point. But Sam kept fighting, he kept going – because if he didn't….

He was so confused as to why his older brother was trying to fight him – so he didn't have his full hunter instincts in him to do full damage to his brother. Dean was still his brother, and Sam didn't want to hurt him, even if _**he**_ was hurting him. Unfortunately, that's what got him tied up to a bed. Now _he_ was the loser.

But it couldn't be Dean – could it? Dean would never hurt his little brother, Sam knew that. And Sam would never hurt Dean. The young hunter was so confused. Sam went through a list of things in his head as to what was wrong with Dean. _Maybe he's possessed_, Sam thought, _no_ – _he would've been a lot stronger and able to take me out just like that._ _Why put up a fight and risk injury? Well… he has been acting weird for a couple of days…._ Sam thought… but his thoughts were cut off as Dean walked into his line from the bathroom.

Sam lifted his head, wriggling a little, but restrained to move, he looked at his brother. _God, no, this isn't Dean_. Sam thought. It _can't_ be.

"Morning, Sammy." Dean said, smirking as he saw Sam's eyes widen with anticipation. Sam's eyes widened even more and his breathing became faster when Dean got onto the bed so that he was on top of him, straddling him.

Sam wanted to know what this thing that looked like his brother wanted.

Sam starting to shake, Dean rolled on top of his little brother's trembling body, Sammy's glassy tear-filled green eyes staring at him, the tears on the edge of rolling down his cheeks. He was in pure disbelief. _Okay, so it's definitely not him now_. Sam thought. At least that was a relief.

Dean leaned into him, and Sam could feel his jean-covered cock arousing as soon as it made contact with his perfect body, rubbing against his lower abdomen as he tightened the cloth gag around Sam's mouth. Their limbs were side by side entangled; Dean's left leg in between Sam's legs and his right leg hanging outside. He hovered very close to Sam's chest as he continued to straddle him. Their touch was something Sam wasn't used to. He never got close to his brother like this. Sam never touched his brother if it was unnecessary – even accidentally bonking elbows Sam tried to reduce.

Sam moaned from under his gag. He was **very** uncomfortable, and that must have been obvious.

"Shhh…." Dean cooed, his face close to Sam's, breathing warm air on his skin that sent a shiver down Sam's spine. Sam whimpered,

"It's gonna be okay, little bro."

As his hands were readjusting Sam's gag, he leaned his head down, arching his back so that his mouth was against Sam's right ear, and whispered, "I'll make this good for you."

_What the hell did that mean?_ Sam shut his eyes to prevent tears from escaping and to not give Dean any pleasure in showing him that he was in clear fear and distress, and to not show the helplessness that seeped through his eyes – Dean was clearly dominant and Sam clearly was the in no position of power. They both knew that.

He didn't want to show any fear. Sam hated the fact that he was so helpless, that he couldn't do anything to stop Dean from touching him… or mol- _No_, Sam thought…. It wouldn't come to that, would it? He trembled even more and Dean's crushing weight on him was not helping.

Seeing his brother's discomfort, Dean leaned off a little bit but was still placed on his body, and Sam felt his callusing hands, so soft and gentle against his smooth bare skin, touch his neck and stop at his chest, his hands planted face-down on them. Despite being warm, Sam shivered. Dean knelt down to Sam's face again and nipped with his lips at his jaw and upper neck, salty and sweaty.

Sam tensed and resisted, turning his head and stretching his neck as far back as possible and away from Dean. But Dean just leaned in more, suckling on Sam's long neck all the way down. Sam started to break. He shouted out from behind the gag – cursing and cursing – but it did no good.

"Try and relax Sammy. If you relax you might actually enjoy it." Dean laughed crudely, amused.

Dean's tongue was exploring the smooth tanned skin on his neck, suckling on his throat, saliva dripping down Sam's neck, before traveling up to his chin. Luckily, he was gagged. But Dean pulled back one of his arms from behind him and onto his belt. He grabbed his best hunting knife – if it was Dean at all – and unsheathed it in a big show in front of his now paling brother, pressed it to his neck.

"I'm going to take this gag off for a bit, so we can have some…. fun." Dean said calmly and in a sickening manner.

"You call out for help – this blade might accidentally …" he moved the blade up to Sam's chin and pressed it a little harder, just breaking the skin

"…Slip." He paused, a little trickle of blood coming out of the chin. Sam winced. "You get it? So, no screaming little brother…" Sam refused to nod his head, or give any sign of cooperation. But he would cooperate if he knew himself any good.

"You'll only make it harder for yourself."

The thing-that-looked-like-Dean untied his gag.

Sam shouted out, "What do you want? Who _are_ you?" and spat at him.

Dean threw the gag on the floor. "Who am I? I'm Dean of course. Sammy, c'mon, who else would I be?" He smirked.

He knelt down, grabbing Sam's chin. When Sam resisted, Dean forced him to turn his head towards him. He knelt down and cruelly mashed Sam's lips to his. Sam started to panic, trying to roll away from his brother under the restraints, kicking and trying to push Dean off of him. But while kissing Dean moved on top of Sam's legs, crushing them, and he was unable to move as his brother continued to kiss him. The kiss was sweet yet hard and desperate because Sam was resisting so much. Both breathing hard, Dean's eyes were locked on Sam, his eyes harsh and impatient because of Sammy's squirming and resistance.

"Stop fighting me." Dean said between breaths and kisses. Sam refused to stop. This was his brother for God's sake; of course he wasn't going to stop.

Dean parted only for a second to catch a good breathe, then dove in again, managing to part Sam's lips this time, and moved his tongue inside him, his lips on the outside of Sam's as though he would bite him. Sam moaned and cried out inside Dean's mouth, begging for him to stop. He tugged at the ropes, anything to get this Dean-thing off of him.

_It's not him. It's not him_. Sam kept saying to himself. Dean firmly kept one hand on Sam's chin to prevent his head from moving as he forced his tongue inside of him, exploring every inch of his little brother's mouth, while the other caressed his neck and head, digging his fingers into Sam's brown locks. When Dean forced his tongue in deeper, Sam forced his tongue to the back of his throat, refusing for him to play with it.

Annoyed, Dean leaned in more to the kiss so that there noses were now touching each other's faces and their foreheads were in alignment touching. Sam was squirming underneath his older brother's tight grasp and he made moans of protest. His chin hurt.

There just was no end to it. Dean tasted Sam, and Sam unfortunately tasted Dean – Dean ran his tongue along every line and curve and bone in his little brother's mouth, sampling it, tasting Sam's sweet mouth, while Sam fought as hard as he possibly could under all of his holding devices.

Sweat started to form on both of their foreheads and faces, sticking to each other; they could smell each other's scents. Dean moaned and his eyes closed, enjoying the new taste and smell forming. Dean's lips were curled up and his eyes danced with a smile. He was enjoying this. Sam, losing his strength to keep fighting, kept his eyes open though – they were wild with panic, watched his brother continue to kiss him.

Finally, after about a minute, Dean parted their lips, each of each other's saliva dripping and drooling off of each other sloppily at the separate. Some landed on Sam's bare chest. Dean let go of Sam's chin.

"You son of a bitch!" Sam sobbed, tugging harshly at his bonds. Dean, in an almost caressing and loving way, gently thumbed Sam's lips and cleaned the wetness off of them before wiping his own with his shirt.

"Oh, come on Sam. I saw you enjoying it for a few seconds there." Dean put his arm down smiled casually.

"What do you want?" Sam asked again. "You're not my brother."

"No? You don't think so?" Dean said, yanking Sam's hair and forcing his head back. "Cause I sure as hell look like him. And see this blade?" Dean pulled up with his other hand the knife he used earlier –his best hunting knife – a silver hunting knife. "Shapeshifters don't even want to come near silver." Sam signed. He still didn't believe this thing to be Dean – maybe there was something inside him.

At all last hopes, Sam murmured, "Christo."


	3. Chapter 3

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**Disclaimer**: I do not own Supernatural, nor do I own the Winchesters. They and Supernatural belong to Eric Kripke

**Warnings**: Violence, mild Language, torture, limp!Sam

**Author's note**: This is my first fan fiction. Please R&R I would greatly appreciate feedback and ways that I could improve the story as well as any new ideas! I'm very open to different points of view… and you can say the good and the bad… but please no ugly! No flames please… it's just too hot to handle…

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At all last hopes, Sam murmured, "Christo."

Surprisingly, all was still. _What? It's not supposed to be like this_. Sam studied his brother's face as he said it, and continued to look for any signs of possession. There wasn't any sign of possession within his big brother – nothing. No black eyes, no flinches. Nothing. They just stared at each other, as if time had stopped altogether. Dean didn't blink. It was like there was nothing inside him – just a body that had no spirit.

Dean didn't seem to move; he just sat there on his brother's stomach and stared at him, an emotionless expression on his face. Taken aback and curious of his brother's movement, Sam brought up the courage and said it again,

"Christo."

This time he knew was a mistake. In a very odd fashion, coming back to life from the short-lived 'trance', Dean abruptly brought back his arm and backhanded him, whipping his little brother's head to the left in a hard cracking sound. Sam gasped.

"D-Dean…" he whispered.

Seemingly ignoring him or did not care, Dean did it three more times, and Sam was sagging, his lip cut.

"How dare you say that, little brother." Dean spat at him, as he wiped the small amount of Sam's blood from his hand onto his jeans,

"What, you thought I was possessed or something? You don't think that this is me? Are you stupid little brother?" Dean screamed at him. Sam flinched. Dean was able to read his brother very well: it was clear that Sam was afraid of him.

"I… - I don't know what you want!!" Sam yelled louder know, trying to sound confident but his voice was shaky.

_This isn't Dean – it isn't._ Sam knew that, no matter how many times the thing that looked like Dean told him he **was** him.

"Little brother…" but he paused, seemed to stop in the middle of what he was going to say. He almost had a genuine look of care on his face as he looked down at Sam – but it was mistaken._ Is he back_? Was his Dean back?

"No – you know what? I'm gonna go out – get some things. I'll, uh – I'll be back." He smiled down at Sam, glowering. He **had** been mistaken. This Dean-thing was going to continue to hurt him – and he had no idea why. Sam winced at being so helpless, that there was no way out of what was coming for him – and his nose started to bleed. Unable to wipe the blood away it entered his mouth. He choked quietly it did. Dean laughed at his well attempted quiet cough.

"You okay little bro? Aww… don't worry … Dean your big bro can help you with that…."

Dean brought up his arm again, and hit him with his fist square in the face. Again and again and again. He just kept pummeling him in the face with his hard knuckles – and Sam continued to yelp but – not to give his brother any satisfaction – did not scream. Sam bit his lip as hard as he could. His face felt swollen and he lost count of how many times Dean had already hit him. He struggled and with what last bit of strength he had left he used to shift his head away from Dean's aim of fists, gasping.

"Aw… don't be like that. Embrace it – this is what you call _brotherly love_." Dean cooed in Sam's ear. Sam silently sobbed out as he sagged deeper onto the bed of that was actually of welcoming comfort. He just wanted to fall asleep on the soft mattress, let the world sink away, let the darkness close in for a while… but –

WHAAAAM!

Another punch. Another punch. One more. One more. _Please – no more_. _I've had enough_. Sam's vision was becoming blurry and all he could see in his shrinking line of vision he was wishing would grow faster was his brother on top of him punching and punching him repeatedly.

He choked out a louder sob he could no longer hold in. That gave his brother a little bit more satisfaction and urge, so he continued harder. Now Sam continued to sob, unable to hold it in any longer. He sobbed and teared up from the blood in his mouth and from the pain. Pain. It hurt so much. _Help me Dean, please. Make it stop_.

His wish was met. His nightmare ended as he sank into the temporary world of unconsciousness, escaping reality. It still felt like Dean was hitting him even as he dreamed.

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When he woke up, Sam found himself dangling from the ceiling – his wrists shackled together and attached to a long chain that was fixed to the ceiling above him somehow. His brother – or if it was – was ingenious apparently at carpentry, a skill Sam knew Dean was moderately good at but didn't know this good at, as when Sam looked up he could see that he had screwed to the ceiling a perfect beam that which he now dangled off of. A very clean job, Sam noted. Very impressive.

His shirt was still off – which made him feel even more exposed and stretched out like helpless prey on top of the vulnerable position he was already in. Shoes and socks off, his feet touched the floor, which was surprisingly warm, the carpet tickling his skin like a soft kiss. He was uncomfortable with his arms over his head. The shackles dug into his wrists. But at least he could firmly plant both feet on the ground and stand to elevate the pressure on his wrists a bit.

Sam now took deep, long breaths.

_Got yourself into this mess. Can get yourself out. _Sam knew his dad would say to him if he were here. His dad. Just thinking of him brought tears to his eyes. The one other person besides Dean that Sam really loved and cared about; and who loved him back equally as much. His family. His dad – the man, the hunter who had sacrificed himself to save his oldest son. John was a fighter – he died for Dean. His sons were fighters. All of the Winchesters were fighters.

But now Dean was …. _NOOO!_ Sam frustrated scream at himself was silent but well heard by him_. I have to save Dean . . . I have to! No matter what. I'm a fighter –just like a Winchester. _ Sam started to twist and shake – anything to loosen or weaken the chains or shackles. But nothing; the beam held its place perfectly as Sam lashed out and fought. Damn his brother for being good at every skill.

Frustrated and out of breath, Sam relaxed again, and that was when he heard his brother's laugh from behind him.

Snickering and as if greatly amused by Sam – which he probably was – Dean came up from behind his brother and faced him, their bodies now inches from each other. Sam could feel his brother's warm breath on his face as he exhaled and shivered. Somehow, he knew from the pit in his stomach that he was in trouble. The pit got deeper.

"Let's have some fun, little bro."


	4. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer**: Same as before: I do not own Supernatural, nor do I own the Winchesters. They (unfortunately) and Supernatural belong to the fabulous Eric Kripke.

**Warnings**: Violence, mild Language, torture, limp!Sam

**Author's note**: This is my first fan fiction. Please R&R I would greatly appreciate feedback and ways that I could improve the story as well as any new ideas! I'm very open to different points of view… and you can say the good and the bad… but please no ugly. No flames please… it's just too hot to handle… )

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**Chapter 4**

"Let's have some fun, little bro." Dean said in a bone-chilling, sarcastic way.

Sam gulped. Still hanging from the ceiling, his wrists were losing circulation, his hands numbing by the minute. Dean turned away from Sam, his back facing to him. Sam looked at his brother from behind and waited, hoping that he could handle whatever was coming next. He was a Winchester. Of course he could handle whatever was coming next.

But he couldn't shake the feeling: this was his worst nightmare. Coming true. He couldn't believe it. Almost worse then his nightmares about Jessica. It was Dean, _his_ brother Dean, who had him tied up and about to hurt him even more. He felt betrayed – but he never thought it would come to this. Ever –

_No_.

He said to himself. _It's not him. Snap out of it._

His problems couldn't get any worse. There had to be some way of getting loose from the handcuffs – unlike Dean he wasn't quite 'professional' at doing that – but there had to be a way. Sam hated the fact that he was so helpless and vulnerable – but he just simply couldn't get out of his brother's holding device he had set up for him. So he waited – however many minutes or seconds, Sam wasn't sure.

It was all too unexpected, too sudden. In half a second – no more – Dean suddenly whipped around and accurately backhanded Sam's cheek to his left. Startled but left nothing more than a gasp – not quite to Dean's satisfaction, Dean slapped him again, this time harder but in a smaller motion that proved to be more effective. Sam bit down hard on his bottom lip to prevent himself from whimpering. Closing his eyes and slowly breathing out the pain, he squinted and opened again when the worst of the stinging pain passed. His cheek was red; it felt like needles were jabbing into him. Dean was catching his breath too. He just looked at Sam. He was so angry. Why?

Thinking he didn't hear him, Dean responded, "Why, Sam? Why am I angry? Why do you think, huh? You still don't know –"

He hit Sam again, this time an accurate punch to the face. Sam couldn't suppress a small whimper as his head was snapped back. He thought he heard a crack from his neck, but luckily he was able to move his head back to the front again in its natural position; unfortunately, however, to face his captor again. At that moment Sam wished his neck **had** cracked. He felt something on his face bleeding, he wasn't quite sure what – but he could taste blood in his mouth. His nose he deduced – as he could feel a hot liquid seeping out. Dean just stood there, looking at him. He smirked at him.

"You know I helped you so much, and yet you wouldn't help me, would ya?" Dean's tone had changed from anger to annoyance. Sam said nothing, just listened.

"Of maybe it's a question of couldn't. It seemed like every time you wanted to help me out . . . something bad happened. I lost people I loved . . ." he stopped.

What's his problem? Has he lost his mind? Sam bravely muttered in a muffled voice, carefully choosing his words,

"W-What are you talking about, Dean? Who did you lose?" Despite his efforts to not make him angry, Dean grabbed Sam's head on both sides of his face. Letting go with one hand he abruptly pulled it back and smacked Sam on the cheek. When he sobbed out, Dean smiled. Another smacking sound – skin to skin. Sam cried out again. How many more hits was he going to take?

"Don't ask questions! Just _listen_ little brother." It was then that Sam knew to shut up. Sam felt more blood oozing out of his nose. Settling on the top rim of his upper lip, it made it thick and feeling heavy. Sam felt gross.

Dean's loud voice filled the room, his eyes smiling but Sam could tell he was angry. Dean released his hands from their grasp on his little brother's face. Relieved but not supported anymore, Sam allowed his heavy head to sag and look down at the floor. He just stared down at it, afraid if he would look up he would get hit again. He kept himself as still as possible. That was probably the best thing he could do right now. The handcuffs dug into his wrists tighter.

Despite Sam's decision to not make eye contact with him at that moment, the Dean-thing kept his gaze upon the helpless younger hunter in front of him.

"This is for your own good Sammy. You – or me –" He laughs, "Have to learn things the hard way, the way _I_ had to lose somebody close too. Whatever friggin' goes around, comes around – eh little bro?" Dean chuckled. The chuckle sent what felt like an electric current worm through his long spine. Sam stilled even more. He was so confused.

Dean stepped back – reaching from behind him his old black whip – Sam never knew why he kept it – it was old, but very sharp. He never used it. Until now. When Dean noticed Sam pale, he came up to him, unraveling it in a cocky manner of show in front of him. It didn't take a genius to figure out what he was going to use it for. _Okay, okay, just breathe Sam_. _Just breathe_. _You can do it – just cancel it out_. _Force the pain out_. John had taught them a hell of a lot about controlling how your mind handles pain when your physical body takes it: just accept the pain but don't take it in. Don't let it enter into your mind._ Think of something else_, Sam thought. It can seep through your body in waves like an electric current, let it go through your arms and your torsos, but make sure that is stops at the neck. "_Don't let it get to your head_." Sam could still hear John saying to them.

When John first explained it to both of his sons they thought it sounded cheesy and laughed but he told them it was basic psychology and not to be made fun of because it works. However, Sam had never really used it, and neither had Dean for that matter, so he wasn't sure what to do . . . _I have no way out_, Sam thought. _I can't do it_.

Panic was threatening to overwhelm him again. Sam started breathing hard. His gaze fell upon his brother still unraveling that whip with his fingers, letting each inch of leather touch the floor slowly. The whip almost looked like a snake; it's long and lean, slithery form allowing its owner's hands to guide him. Dean's concentration was sickening. It was long – too long. Dean enjoyed Sam's rising panic – it was what he had wanted.

"D-Dean . . . please . . ." Sam whispered, his voice had become quiet, "Please . . . d-don't –" He hated how desperate he sounded. Dean had finished unraveling it. He raised his head from his extreme concentration.

"Why are you doing this?" Seemingly ignoring him, Dean shushed him,

"It's okay Sammy." He cooed into his ear, but Sam turned his head away and tried to ignore the sound of hunger hanging in his voice,

"It's okay."

He watched Dean quickly turn around and reach onto the desk behind him for a wad of duct tape. Ripping off a piece but still holding the whip he turned back to Sam. Sam turned his head away, unable to look at the extreme satisfaction and thrill on his brother's face. Again, if it even was him. Sam turned his head as far away from his brother as he could – arching his neck back. Dean grabbed his chin roughly, and even though Sam tensed, tried to shake him off – Dean managed to turn his head and successfully. Sam couldn't help but notice the way Dean stuck out his tongue slightly as he eyed the way his brother's lips curved and responded to the sticky tape while he drew it across them slowly to make it perfect. Finished, the silver tape over his little brother's lips, his tongue snaked back into his mouth and his eyes darted to Sam's.

"There. That should keep you quiet. Wouldn't want you to wake the neighbors with all the noise you're gonna make." Sam looked at him with now not only fear, but anger. Once again he was made even more helpless and this enforced the thought further into both of them that he was at his big brother's mercy completely.

The older hunter lightly slapped Sam's cheek, "C'mon little bro. Smile for me." Dean mocked at him, smiling. Sam glowered at him. His heavy breathing increased. There was nothing he could do. He couldn't stop his brother's games, he couldn't call out for help now at all even though he had been threatened not to, and he still couldn't break the bonds. Nothing.

Dean had focused his gaze onto the whip and stepped back, positioning himself to whip his little brother's body. That's it – his chance. It was all Sam needed. A moment Sam could do something – when he wasn't looking at him. Dean had backed up enough for Sam to bring up his legs. _Kick him, kick him now!_ Using all of his strength, he raised his long limbs, planting his feet on Dean very quickly, pulled them back and kicked Dean hard in the chest. Dean stumbled back and slightly curled in, but didn't fall to Sam's satisfaction.

"Son of a bitch!" He coughed out hoarsely, clutching his chest but he grabbed onto his whip in a grip again that he had lost from the blow and approached Sam.

Sam couldn't laugh, but he tried to. Any attempt to smile or laugh faded when his brother came very close to him,

"Every time you do that, one of your pretty little fingers will break. Eh? Shake your head for me, Sammy." Sam met his brother's gaze. His brother still grasped his chest achingly but had a smile light his face. Again. Annoyed, Sam obediently nodded his head gently. Pleased, Dean stepped back.

"That's my boy. Excellent." He muttered with such satisfaction, "Now let's try this again."

He took one more step back; brought back his hand holding the whip, and flung it forward. _No!_ Sam screamed to himself. But no one seemed to hear him. Leather made contact with skin. A cracking, sharp noise filled the room. Sam screamed behind the tape, breathing in hard through his nose and trying to get whatever air he could out into it. Sam instinctively tried to open his mouth and gulp in air. He squinted and moaned, shaking slightly and frustrated that he could gasp more air into his much needed oxygen-deprived body. Sam tried to stay calm. But he couldn't – and violently started pulling at the handcuffs holding his wrists from above. Shaking and upset, Sam looked up at his brother just in time for his body to meet with another whipping – as if his brother had planned for him to look up at that exact moment so he could watch him whip him.

Pain robbed him of much movement; he screamed and screamed from behind the tape but what only could be heard of as soft whimpers. Dean smiled, satisfied with Sam's restrained but quite extravagant reaction. It wasn't working. Sam's body wouldn't listen to his mind trying to control how he reacted to the pain. _I guess I couldn't do what Dad told me to do after all_. His thoughts interrupted, Dean cut in,

"You're a good kid Sam, don't get me wrong. But this is for your own good. You couldn't protect me from what happened. It's a little . . . _payback_." Sam barely registered the words that seemed to tumble out of his brother's mouth in a mish-mashed general fuzz. But he got the big picture of it.

"You know, you were too late. Why? Why didn't you figure it out earlier little brother? You don't remember? You _still_ don't remember? She was _evil_ Sam, evil – but you and what's-his-face couldn't figure it out." His voice had suddenly become louder and hotter, as he approached the now sagging Sam. Putting a hand to his smooth, beardless chin he forced Sam to look up at him.

"You still don't know little brother: what I'm talking about, do you?" Sam's eyes stung with tears threatening to spill down his cheeks. He didn't know if that was what clouded his vision or not. Dean looked slightly distorted – as did the room. Sam blinked, trying to clear his vision.

His brother continued to shout at him for something he didn't know he had done. His vision and hearing was slowly fading and becoming weaker. Dean whipped him four or five times more – each time seemingly getting worse to handle – and finally he was able to make Sam cry.

Sam sobbed. Hard. Unable to hold it in, tears ran down his cheeks, collecting at the waistband of the tape around his face. And then they spilled, rolling down the rest of his face. He was humiliated, he felt so feeble. He was a Winchester dammit, he shouldn't be crying. He shouldn't be spineless. _Please, somebody help me_. Sam tried to scream out. But his screams and cries for help were silent and unheard.


	5. Chapter 5

**Disclaimer**: Same as before: I do not own Supernatural, nor do I own the Winchesters. They (unfortunately) and Supernatural belong to the fabulous Eric Kripke.

**Warnings**: Violence, mild Language, torture, limp!Sam

**Author's note**: Sorry for the late update guys! I am having trouble writing a lot as, being sixteen years old, had to have my wisdom teeth removed. I had all four of them removed! I've attempted my best at finishing this part off. This next chapter is a small section, but it was something I really wanted to include.

Also, thanks for reviews to you guys! You guys are awesome! Feedback is definitely something that really helps me move forward with keeps me writing. So thank you…

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**Chapter 5**

Bobby Singer stood outside behind trees – stalk-still and eyes peeled to his binoculars. What was going on inside the motel where the Winchester's were was beyond anything the older hunter could understand at that moment. First of all, Bobby knew that Dean would never hurt Sam. And Sam would never hurt Dean. Then why was Dean beating the crap out of his little brother? He eyed more closely into the binoculars and noticed the helpless young body of Sam's had being brutally beaten. His feet were dragging from the ground. Although his back was facing him, Bobby could tell Sam was beaten from the front too, as blood trips sported all around the floor of him.

He can't be dead – the thing that looks like Dean Bobby kept telling himself, is keeping him alive for some reason. If it wanted to kill him, he would have had his chance to catch Sam off guard _if_ he was able to _tie_ him up. It wouldn't make sense to kill Sam now.

Pondering about why would have to be done later, so Bobby worked up his action plan. The older hunter went through a list of things in his head of what he could do. He could bring in his load of holy water and silver knives, guns and what not. He could storm in, grab the Dean-thing and have himself a friendly little interrogation – and of course, help Sam. Or he could silently wait out and stake out the place…. Hoping that Dean would eventually come outside and he could nab him there. Or face the other alternative: get the cops involved.

Bobby shook his head at that one. _Nah_. He knew the cops were looking for the stealth Winchesters twenty four hours a day seven days a week, there was simply no way he could do that. So he came to his conclusion, and got himself prepared. The cold beers he had brought that he thought would be put to good use with Sam and Dean lay in the back of his truck, and Bobby knew they would not be cold by the time they were ready to be opened.

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Sniffles and sobs from Sam were the only sounds that Sam was making at the moment. Tears rolled down his bloodied cheeks. His breathing was raspy and fast – from the sobs, pain, or fear – it was hard to know. It might have been from all three of them. The room was hot and stuffy, the air hot and thick – which also added to his shortness of breaths.

Through his clouded vision, Sam blinked and let the stinging tears fall down. Every time his brother hit him the pain got more intense, and each time it was harder to breathe. It was getting more difficult to manage the pain with every blow, kick, slap, or punch that was laid upon his already beaten body. He didn't understand what his brother was doing – _how could he do this_?

_Please, please somebody help me_…

But no one could hear him. He was left unheard again. All of his screams, all of the crying and the begging to stop and for help that was boiling up inside him was not heard by anyone but by Sam himself. In some ways that wasn't so bad – the screaming and crying was so cruel to anyone's ears, but Sam wished he could call for help. It was like all of his unheard cries and screams were filling up his lungs inside him and he couldn't get it out. Like a balloon filling with air and he wanted to untie the balloon and let all of the air and screams come out before he burst.

The Dean thing kept pushing him farther and farther into a corner like a frightened, wounded animal. A dark corner where Sam didn't want to be. Slowly Sam felt like he was losing his mind, like the Dean-thing would never stop until he got him pinned into that corner, no where to go.

Losing his trail of thought, the Dean-thing came up to him again, and Sam knew he was in trouble yet again, as Dean grabbed him by his hair and forced his face up. A sob escaped again. It was amazing how routine this was. _No please, not again_. Sam started to shake more and more. The Dean-thing was getting less and less angry; he seemed to be happier. Which was almost worse. Sam's crying and stifled yelping made the Dean-thing just stand there and smile at him, like he was very pleased with himself.

Or Sam.

It didn't really matter, he clearly was enjoying this. Hurting him. Hurting his little brother. But it wasn't him – Dean would never do that to Sam.

Still holding his head, he spit at him, "You enjoying this, little brother?" He taunted at him. "Hanging in there . . .?"

_Huh, literally. _Sam thought if he could answer him. No matter what you did to Sam Winchester, he always had the geek-boy, Joe College trait inside of him. He refused to even move or make any sign that he had heard him though.

"Look sweetheart," he began, using his other hand to thumb the cuts on Sam's face. Sam flinched. "When this is all over I'll make it clean and easy. There'll be no more pain – I can stop it." His voice changed to a softer and almost loving and caring way, "You want me to stop the pain for you, don't you Sammy?" he asked Sam but the kindness in his voice still didn't conceal the taunting which lay beneath it, and he was also hoping to get some kind of cooperation or response from Sam. Sam whimpered in an attempt of agreement to the favor asked of him.

And then it came, another bone-piercing, ear-splitting hard punch to Sam's bruised face again.

"Uhhhhhh…." Sam cried out from behind his taped lips, his eyes closed and trying to endure the agony he was in. He cried hard. The pain was too unbearable. He closed his eyes and let the tears flow out. He was beaten. He had lost and the sick Dean-thing knew it. Satisfied, his brother released the grip on his hair, and whimpering, Sam's face felt down to his bruised chest. His head felt heavy. Dean just stood there, and continued watching Sam cry.

Tears hit the carpet and continued to fall. Sam shook and whimpered, the pain stung and he was finding it hard to catch his breath again. His world was swimming, everything vertigo, just let me out… let me sleep….

"No – I don't think so little brother." Dean saw the closing of Sam's eyelids quickly. He grabbed his chin, forcing him upwards again.

"The fun's just started – why stop now, eh?" Dean laughed. His eyes danced with playfulness – almost innocent looking…

"Here – let me help you wake up…" Dean reared back and kicked Sam's ribs and stomach over and over until Sam was alert and sobbing again. In an attempt to tell his brother to stop, Sam moaned and forced himself to look into his brother's predatory eyes. He sobbed and tried to move his lips from behind their cage of tape to say something, the tape creasing to their prisoner's attempted movement. Dean grabbed a hold of the tape, and yanked it off in one swift, clean motion. Sam yelped out – the tiny prickles shooting from his chin and lips down to his feet.

Sam could breathe again. He cried out loudly, his cries and voice echoing and filling the room. Everything seemed to shake with Sam's shaking body as he yelled and sobbed in front of Dean. The energy, now sorrow, pervaded the room. He yelled – all of the screams and cries that he had lingering in his lungs for so long were escaping. All of the hits he had taken, every emotion that he felt – were all coming out. It was horrible to hear. Time seemed to freeze.

As Sam hung there, defenseless and helpless, sobbing and bloody, and continued to sob, his screams reduced to softer sobs and half-choked cries. And Dean just watched. But before Dean could do anything else – the door was burst open and in both Sam and Dean's line of vision appeared Bobby.


End file.
